Romantic Interludes

by TWCS Authors

  Inside, the shop was tiny—hence the name: The Little Flower Shop. To one side were a row of three steps, not unlike the ones leading to the stage in Becky’s old high school—only much smaller. They’d been custom made for the shop when it first opened, but the older and more worn they’d become, the more charm they had. The shelves were painted a dull pond green color and on each level was a neat line of black buckets. The walls of the shop were a sort of washed out light blue. Jilly had explained long ago, that the interior was meant to echo nature on a subliminal level. Becky wasn’t convinced, but she liked it anyway. It felt right for The Little Flower Shop.

  “They look nice.” Her tall dark stranger pointed to the giant mophead hydrangeas. Inside, Becky shivered but she hid it well. Hydrangeas were so old fashioned. Surely a bunch of scarlet irises would be more fitting with red roses and deep orange zinnias to offset the crimson.

  “Okay,” she said but then moved quickly, picking out different flowers to put together a magical combination of reds, oranges and some golden yellows.

  “Wow, that’s certainly a vivid bunch.” He looked amused. “But I don’t think they’re quite what I’m looking for.” He pointed back to the mopheads again. “To be honest, I think those ones would be better.”

  Becky had been in the business long enough to know that the customer was always right, even when he was wrong, so she nodded politely and returned all her precious irises and vivid roses to their individual pails of water. Then she began gathering up the hydrangeas he was so set on. “A classic choice. Can I add some Gypsophila to these, to spice them up a bit?” she asked, trying to improve what she thought was actually a rather drab arrangement.

  He looked at her and smiled for the first time. He had a lovely smile. His eyes were even darker than his hair—a deep brown color and they crinkled at the sides when he grinned. Maybe he was older than she thought. Becky felt herself smiling back, and then to her horror, she felt her face flush. Oh, God, I’m blushing—I’m actually blushing. What the heck is that about? she thought, trying to shake herself out of it. But the more she thought about it, the more she flushed. Can he see? she wondered in a panic.

  “Ye’ know. I think they’ll do fine just as they are. Thanks.” He was stronger now. Was that because he’d seen her blush or he was suddenly a flower expert? No prizes for guessing that one, she thought.

  “Okay,” Becky said and walked back to the security of her flower counter. If he wanted a very mediocre arrangement, that was his loss, but before she finished, without discussing it, she added some super-sized blades of grass and a handful of twiggy sticks. Then she wrapped the entire thing in some feather light, lime green tissue paper before finally surrounding the bouquet in clear plastic. All of this she did without asking for his permission, fearful that he’d want it duller. When it was almost done she tied a thick, lime green ribbon around the stems to give it a final flare. If the bouquet was going to leave this shop, she had an obligation to gussy it up to ensure it looked halfway decent.

  He passed the time by looking around the shop at the other finer and more exotic flowers. Oh, the arrangements she could have made for him, but he went for something soooo predictable and old fashioned. No imagination, she decided, but still very good looking. Becky didn’t try to talk with him after her blushing episode. She was just relieved to feel the heat in her face subside again. With any luck she was no longer as crimson as her dahlias.

  He paid cash and was out of her life as quickly as he entered it. Becky watched his perfectly dressed and kinda cute back leave the shop and wondered why a man with such nice taste in clothes would choose such a plain and old-style bunch of flowers. She also wondered why in the world it bothered her so much.

  “So what?” she said to the flowers that he’d left behind. “What is it to me if he has no taste? Maybe his wife buys his clothes.” Becky cleaned the place even though it didn’t need it. “She should probably buy her own flowers, too.”

  The counter was an enormous country-pine kitchen table. This was where they cut, clipped and assembled their now famous bouquets. It wasn’t a big shop but then, Waylin wasn’t a big town. They were a few hours’ drive south of Austin, Texas, and The Little Flower Shop did a great business because the girls produced fantastic floral creations. People traveled from other towns to buy Jilly and Becky’s flowers. The girls had taken classes in flower arrangements and bouquet beautification and they knew their stuff. Their stock was as good as any large flower shop in Texas and they knew how to improve flowers with just the right amount of plain foliage to offset the dominant colors and perfumes. Then they would wrap them in some tone-appropriate tissue paper, perhaps adding some seasonal decor before covering their creations in stiff transparent plastic for protection. When all of that was done, they added a ribbon and sticker to say that the creation had come from The Little Flower Shop in Waylin. Jilly called them works of art and Becky agreed. They were artistes.

  To the side of their table, they had a chest of drawers. That’s where the cards, ribbons and seasonal knickknacks were stocked. On top of the chest were scissors, knives and the cash register was up there, too.

  The first job of the day was to check the stock and get rid of any wilting blooms. Then the water was changed and fresh flowers were added as they arrived throughout the week. They were also arranged in order of color, and Becky thought it was a feast for the senses. Every season the flowers seemed to get prettier to look at and some of them threw a hell of a punch in the perfume department. On top of that, she loved handling them and crafting them into imaginative bouquets depending on the occasion. The fact that the flowers were so fragile, and their beauty transient, made them even more beautiful according to Jilly. Becky agreed.

  The business managed well for such a tight little space. Frilly net curtains that covered the lower half of the shop-window meant Becky couldn’t see who was coming, even as they walked past the shop front. It was only if they opened the door and came in that she would see them. She’d tried to convince her boss to take the netting down so she could watch the comings and goings of their small town but Jilly refused, insisting that the net curtains protected the flowers from the strong Texas sun but she also joked that it protected the residents of Waylin from Becky’s watchful eyes, too.

  Becky didn’t think that was so funny.

  After the stranger’s visit, the day dragged by. There were a few bunches bought for Cyndi Parker—an old classmate of Becky’s who had produced a beautiful baby girl the week before. Then there was a lovely bouquet bought for a silver anniversary in town but other than that, Becky had little to amuse herself or regale Jilly with when she came in later that day.

  “I wonder who that was, now,” Jilly said with genuine interest when she heard about the new man in her shop. She knew most people in town at this stage, as did Becky, so they concluded that it was some attractive stranger who was just passing through. Jilly had set the shop up seven years earlier and Becky came to work for her almost immediately. The time had flown by and they had become fast friends. The fact that Jilly was Becky’s boss didn’t affect their friendship. She acted and sounded like a big sister, which made sense anyway, because she was thirty-five while Becky claimed to be the baby sister at thirty-four years.

  Being a flower shop, they knew every bit of gossip in the town—good and bad. It was Jilly who had first pointed this out. People bought flowers to celebrate a pregnancy or a baby’s arrival. Sometimes men bought flowers to make up after a fight. Jilly knew that Cyndi Parker’s boyfriend was going to propose to her before even Cyndi did because of the huge bouquet he bought. “Well, he was going to either propose or break up,” she’d said at the time. Most men lacked the will to buy big bouquets for bust ups—only make ups.

  Sadly, it was also how Jilly had discovered that Jack Jennings—Becky’s live-in boyfriend—was having an affair. It was a long time ago now, but Becky knew that her boss still felt bad about it. Jilly had been away from Waylin for a few years doi
ng her degree in floral design. She was out of touch despite the fact that she grew up in the town. Jack was not local, but she got to know him pretty well as soon as she started up The Little Flower Shop. Becky knew the story well. Jack came in that very first week. Then he returned a few weeks later and by his third visit, he and Jilly were on first name terms. Jilly wasn’t with Tom, her boyfriend back then and she knew that Jack was flirting with her, but he wasn’t her kind. It was pretty obvious that he was in love anyway because he was buying a steady supply of red roses. A few months after she was home, she bumped into Becky and Jack at their local seven eleven. Jilly saw no reason to keep it a secret back then.

  “My red roses man,” she had said when she saw him. Then Jilly turned to Becky. “Your boyfriend here has been a great support to my new business—The Little Flower Shop. You must love red roses!”

  Becky looked confused, Jack looked guilty, and Jilly looked at the floor, wishing it would open. She knew there and then that she had made the biggest mistake one can make in the floral business. She had blabbed. Some weeks later Becky came into the shop. She was thinner and sadder than the woman Jilly had seen in the 7-11 but she sounded strong.

  “I want to thank you,” she had said to Jilly that day. “I had my doubts, but I was ignoring them. There was no place to hide after we met you. Jack admitted everything and we broke up. He’s moved out.” Then Becky had broken down in tears. Several cups of tea later, Jilly understood that her new friend’s big concern was making the mortgage repayments on their apartment now that Jack was gone. Jilly offered her a job on the spot. She didn’t take much persuading to leave her old secretarial position and she had a lot of courses to do but Becky, it transpired, was a natural in the flower business. Seven years later, they were as close as two friends could be, but Jilly often said that she felt dreadful for the way her friend had to find out.

  Now the girls made damn sure they were very discreet with any information that came their way. They never mentioned a bunch of flowers that had been purchased by a customer outside the shop. They were discretion personified, but that didn’t stop them gossiping when they were alone together in the shop. Within the sanctuary of The Little Flower Shop, anything could be talked about—or anybody.

  “It wasn’t Matt Mahoney?” Jilly asked now having listened to Becky’s description of their new tall dark stranger.

  “No way.” Becky guffawed. “He may have been gone a long time, but I still know what he looks like. Lord, he was one good looking man. No, this guy is older. I think he was in his late thirties. Cute.”

  “Hair color?”

  “Brown.”

  “Eyes?”

  “Same.”

  Jilly gave a nod of approval.

  “In shape?”

  Becky smiled. “Heck, yeah.”

  “Nose?”

  “Um, unbroken I think. Yep, it was straight—not too big.” She laughed then. She knew Jilly had a thing about noses. She hated big ones and Tom, her boyfriend, had a tiny one.

  “Wedding ring?”

  “Definitley not. I checked—just before I went as red as a tomato.”

  “Sounds like you’ve met your match,” Jilly said.

  “Funny! No, I’m sorry to say, I really got the feeling he was spoken for.”

  “Pity he didn’t pay with plastic. Then we’d have had his name and been able to Google him or check out Facebook.”

  Becky shook her head. “No, he used cash. Maybe we could finger print the notes.” She laughed.

  “It doesn’t look too hard on CSI and I’m sure we could get a finger print kit on Amazon.”

  “Listen to us, Jilly. We sound like sex-starved old women with nothing to gossip about but a new man in town.”

  “Speak for yourself.” Jilly stood a little straighter. “I am spoken for. I was just curious for you. If there’s a new guy around you should grab him before somebody else does.”

  “Jilly, things aren’t that desperate and anyway, I’m happy without a man.”

  “But you thought this one was cute?” Her friend and boss probed.

  Becky laughed at Jilly’s interrogation skills. It was normal enough between them. Her boss was constantly trying to fix her up with guys she met through tennis tournaments. “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times. Stop trying to find me a man! I can’t play tennis—really I can’t. You know flowers are my thing. I need to find myself a nice gentleman gardener who I can blossom and grow old with.”

  Jilly raised her hands in the air. “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before and he’s the one you might even have a little sapling with. You’re such a romantic. I don’t think there’s any such thing as gentlemen gardeners any more, Becky. Everybody is into technology and computers and the only hedges I hear talk about are hedge funds.”

  Becky wouldn’t be discouraged, however. “Someday, my prince will come.” She sighed and looked out at the clear blue Texas sun above the net curtains.

  “Well, I’m just sorry it wasn’t your Monday man.”

  “I like that, my Monday Man.” Becky smiled at Jilly. “He was a good looker but oh my, what appalling taste in flowers.”

  “Did it occur to you that they could have been for his mother?”

  “I saw his eyes. He wasn’t thinking about his mother,” she said raising an eyebrow in a sort of a you know what I mean manner.

  The next day was Tuesday and Becky relaxed for her day off. She did her normal errands and then found herself walking about the town aimlessly. She surprised herself when she realized that she was keeping a wide eye open for her Monday Man but there was no sign of him. Jilly must have been right. He was just passing through town. Pity. She called in on her mother, Marie, for lunch but didn’t mention the attractive stranger she’d met. Instead, she focused on Marie’s garden which was bursting with the promise of a new year’s growth. Tiny buds were well out of the soil now. Some early blooming daffodils had already arrived. Hyacinths were almost in flower, too, and that meant heaven-sent scent.

  “Springtime has to be the best time in the yard,” Marie said.

  “It sure is, Mom.” Becky nodded in agreement as she checked the ties on the cherry blossoms. “They’ll need to be loosened this season.”

  “Maybe this will be your year,” Marie said then.

  Becky groaned. “Seriously, Mom? Not this old chestnut?”

  “Well, you’re not getting any younger. Springtime is ring time you know.”

  “Any time is ring time these days, Mom.”

  “Not for you, it would seem.”

  Becky bit her lip. She’d never told her mother the full truth about Jack Jennings. She’d never said that he was having an affair with a girl in Austin—that he was driving a hundred miles each way when Becky thought he was working to pay their mortgage. She’d kept all of this from her mother—not out of any loyalty to Jack but because she wanted to protect her mother from the pain. She’d liked him. He’d been good at charming older ladies, well—all ladies it seemed—but he’d certainly worked his magic on Marie, and Becky wanted to leave her mom with that. The only disadvantage was that the woman did go on about him every now and again, lamenting why Becky had ever let such a good one get away.

  Becky’s father had died when she was young and her little brother was in the armed forces, so that left the women to each other’s company. Thankfully, Marie had a good social life in Waylin, so they were able to live separate lives but still see each other a few times a week. Talk of Jack Jennings was enough to make today’s visit short and pretty soon Becky was back home.

  The 2nd Monday

  In the blink of an eye, a week had flown past and Becky was back to hating Mondays. That was until the little antique door bell jingled and the Monday Man walked back into her life.

  “Hello again.” She cheered up at his arrival. She didn’t need to fake the professional smile this time because she was genuinely glad to see him. It was odd how often he had entered her mind—uninvited—over
the week.

  In truth, she didn’t expect him to come back into the shop but just on the off chance that he might, Becky spent most of Sunday on herself. She gave her hair a special conditioning treatment to make it shine like it did on all the TV commercials. She soaked in a bath and exfoliated every single inch of her body—not that anybody was going to see most of it, but still. Becky plucked and tweezed anything that wasn’t bleached or buffed. She chose three different outfits depending on the weather, which was kind of funny because Waylin weather was pretty steady in the springtime—blue skies all day, every day. Before she’d gone to bed on Sunday night, she’d even bleached her teeth. It didn’t seem to make any difference but at least she’d done it. On Monday, she looked as terrific as she possibly could and now here he was—like some miracle—right in front of her. It was all good.

  After so many clothing options, she went for the reliable denim jeans and pink sweater. Better not to look like she was trying too hard. Her hair was still in a bouncy pony tail because it was too long and got in the way when she was working. She was wearing makeup, too, so a definite improvement on the week before. Becky wore natural shades of brown eye shadow and just a tiny amount of blusher. She didn’t want to look like she’d made a gargantuan effort, but she had. Jilly always insisted she was pretty, but Becky thought she had a sort of girl-next-door look about her.

  Like her Monday Man, she had brown eyes. Hers were in a heart shaped face and Jilly had informed her with amusement that she had a tiny nose. Her mouth wasn’t big like the divas on television but she had sweet bow-shaped lips that looked even prettier with a little pink lipstick.

  Don’t blush, don’t blush, she told herself now, because you’ll clash with your lipstick and sweater!

  She tried to look more self assured than she felt. “How did the flowers go over?” she asked. Today was a little warmer and he wasn’t wearing his jacket, so she could see that he had a trim build. He was in denim today, too—they matched! She didn’t mention it but noted that he was a lot more casual this Monday and unless she was mistaken, it was the same tan belt and shoes. If he knew how much she was checking him out he would probably have run from the shop screaming but, of course—mercifully—he didn’t.